Tris Landorin
Description Name: Tris Landorin Origin: Tanchico Hair Color: Dark brown Eye Color: Hazel Age: 14, lied and said she was 16 Weapon of Choice: hands and fist History Tris tapped her fingers impatiently from within the wagon where the black crisps of the patrolman's pipe gathered in her hair. She thought it only right to give the Andoran some entertainment via her makeshift drums on his local beat. After a while he said, "lad, this is where the Queen's jurisdiction ends. Frankly I rarely come here at all, only twice a year to visit family and look after the inn a bit." Tris gathered her sack, into which she poured some of the hay from the wagon. It could make for a good pillow tonight. No doubt she'd be sleeping under the stars again. They were at the ragged outskirts of Baerlon; miners, coalworkers left back in the town, getting plastered on their hard-earnt wages. What won't I give for a good bath, she sniffed. Ten minutes later, her rags were strew across some willows as she bathed in the cold pond. Clean and presentable, even if she appeared poor. Tris was reminded of another time when she was by a pond at home. They sat, and Ingrid appeared. She spoke to Tris’ father and her master in the brisk jauntiness Saldaeans seem to favor. Tris followed well enough. The family coach was coming at half past to take father away to the dress shop in Patriarch’s row. Later on, the stable-boy would be taking Ingrid away for a night; she has to see a Wisdom concerning her massive toothache. Tris heard her father ask Ingrid for the lady’s whereabouts. I don’t know, sir. Ingrid repeated, as if having reached the nub of her message. At half past five? Then she bobbed her her head the usual way, and retreated to the mansion. Father translated for Rhue, Tris’ half-brother. Rhue was trained in the South and although he knew many phrases in Old Tongue he could not be bothered to learn northern dialects in school. Tris said, “Where’s mother?” “I thought she’d be found already” he looked doubtfully at his son, who in turn eyed Tris, then drily queried their Father back, “Was I supposed to keep watch again? I just came back.” “Yes.” “Blast,” Rhue gave Tris a small grin “looks like I’ll be out again huh, pip.” That night Rhue came back with news, finally—Tris’s mother has eloped with one of the Dragonsworn who had been wearing the banner of a bloody hand on his sleeve and her whereabouts could not be bought, as nobody seemed to know where they come or go. The search was called off, and their father slumped. After this Tris was watched very closely by her half-brother and father. It was as though they expected her to be like her mother, whisked away by the first man she fancied, even though she barely has pubic hairs, and her chest was as flat as her back. She looked nothing like her voluptuous, whoring mother. Slowly Tris became very angry at her crazy adulterer of a mother, and with Ingrid’s help snuck away. She had impulsively cut her hair, and was travelling around ever since, hoping to find some closure. Maybe if she claimed to want to join the Dragon's cause and enlisted herself... Category:All Category:Band of the Red Hand Bios Category:Biographies Category:Band Other